


Psychodrama

by solongsun



Series: Maps [4]
Category: Dir en grey, the GazettE
Genre: (past) abuse, AU, M/M, Mental Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 18:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17513627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solongsun/pseuds/solongsun
Summary: Kyo.





	Psychodrama

Sometimes when Kyo looks at him he gets the weirdest feeling – this incredibly light sort of feeling – as if he could just float right up out of his skin.

Everything about this man is impossibly perfect.

His small body is tightly furled on his futon, closed up like a bud; his face is mostly obscured beneath a tangle of dark hair but there are clues, hints of it: the curve of an ear here, of a lip, the shadow where his eyelashes rest against his cheek. He sleeps easily through the city sounds, the traffic and the train line and the sirens; seems to sleep easier with them, almost, letting them lull him down: incredible. Kyo can't figure it out. When they first came to this city it was too much, all that noise rushing through his head and making him shake almost away from his centre, but it's better now, it's normal. The new normal.

All kinds of wonderful things are included in this.

He pushes the blankets away and gets to his feet, padding quietly through to the kitchen, which is a tiny strip of a room that would really do better without the separating wall. This apartment is housed in a concrete block that went up quickly after the war, copied from a European design: uniformly large square windows and small modular rooms, so much bright raw natural light; Ruki calls it brutalist. Kyo fills the kettle at the stainless steel sink and puts it on the stove top, which is a cast iron lattice over enamel and is powered by gas: a scary, invisible substance. He stoops down and gives it a distrustful sniff before turning the gas on, and with the air of somebody braced against a huge impact, he strikes a match and lights the burner. In books fires always crackle, but this particular blue flame makes a sort of _whumf_ noise as it flares into life. He watches the water get warm. Little bubbles crawl up the sides of the kettle. Steam unfolds into the air. Outside the window there are other concrete blocks like these, a sort of filing cabinet for people, so many windows with so many lives behind them that it makes Kyo feel dizzy. The water starts to roll and he turns the gas off. Gives it another long sniff. Double-checks that the knob is definitely turned to 0.

Back in the bedroom Ruki sighs and twists against the pillow, and Kyo allows himself a brief spell of watching him, leaning against the door frame. His face is grave; grave by habit. You would have to stand closer, to know him well, to look into his eyes and see the warmth there. He notices a forgotten smear of dark paint on the pale skin near the crook of Ruki's elbow; ducks his head so he's only smiling down at the floor.

Then, tea-making, which comes in a ritual that Ruki taught him: cups set out ready. Pour. Hot water cooling in the cups. Spoon the tea into the teapot. The steam thins, and Kyo empties the contents of the cups into the pot and then clamps on the lid. There is sunlight filtering into the kitchen already. It's going to be a

 

_good morning, sister says, and Kyo tries to peel open his eyes to look at her but they're stiff, swollen feeling. It's dark with a crack of light at his feet. He judges that in the closeness of the cupboard sister is behind him, close enough for her presence to be felt; she stands still but her hair brushes against his cheek, almost too soft to register._

_Good morning, sister._

_I think they're awake. I heard them upstairs, sister says. Her voice is quiet and gentle, a whisper from just behind the ear._

_Are you tied up too?_

_He tries to blink and shapes swim sharply towards him in the darkness, hooking the pain right into him and dragging it; he grits his teeth tightly and feels sister's sympathetic hand on his shoulder. There's the awful sticky stuff gone stiff and dried there, but she doesn't mind; she strokes him soothingly. Against her steady hand, he becomes aware that he's shaking violently._

_Can't open my eyes, he says._

_But you have to._

_No. No._

_He can't explain how it's too much; his throat cracks and creaks and his mouth feels like it's been jammed full of tiny, sharp rocks, clicking painfully against his teeth, shredding his tongue to pulp._

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You have to, brother. You have to be able to watch for them._

_Her soft hands move to the sides of his face, holding him steady as he works at forcing his eyes open. The pain is glassy, brittle; comes at him too hugely, like gulping something boiling hot._

_The strip of light showing under the door of the cupboard mutates, twines upward, and sister shifts quickly out of the way._

_Sorry._

_It's not your fault._

_I thought they were—_

_No, just the light._

_Just the light._

_I hate that light. He thinks this instead of saying it, the bone-deepness of the words making him stiffen up, and sister gently pats the top of his head, like she's heard him any way._

_You'll still watch it, though, she says a little nervously, won't you? To know when they're coming? You will, won't you, brother? Please?_

_Yes. I'll watch it. Don't worry._

_The cupboard shrinks and grows, shrinks and grows. The ceiling creaks. The pipes he's tied to give a roar and the cupboard is full of the sound of running water, trickling, musical. He'll have to move soon, and oh god please he doesn't want to move. Can't move. Shoulders locked from being tied, legs dead, extremities numb. He flashes hot to cold, hot to cold. He doesn't want to._

_Brother, sister whispers softly. There are footsteps on the floorboards overhead,getting louder, getting closer, there are footsteps and the the strip of light at the bottom of the door towers up into_

 

a ray of June sunshine, golden, almost liquid. It forms a pool on the wooden floor, lapping at Ruki's neatly crossed legs, spilling over the paper in front of him; he gives a yawn that is huge, unpretty, unspeakably precious. He sips his tea, ruffles a hand through his sleep-wild hair. He handles his own limbs so beautifully, so carelessly. He moves as though there is no reason not to; catches Kyo's eye and smiles at him, disarming, almost frightening.

'Now that I've got a bit of time,' he's saying, his voice only slightly rough from sleep, 'I want to try and get some technique back. I feel like I've been so crazy trying to make things for the show...' he runs his hand through his hair again, anxious, the way he always is when he talks about the exhibition. Kyo blinks in the bright sun, feels vexed that he can't figure out exactly what to say to make Ruki stop worrying. He takes a too-big swallow of tea and feels the way it burns in his chest, like something pure. He lets his mind go smoothly from one object in the bedroom to the other, a calming ritual: two futons, pushed side-by-side without a single inch of space between them; two teacups, a notepad and pen, a sketchbook, the pencil in Ruki's hand. Behind him: a mirror propped against the wall, a bookshelf stuffed full of peeling paperbacks, a framed Klimt print, full of gold.

Ruki's face turns suddenly mischievous, a sly sort of smile tugging at his cheeks, and he twirls his pencil delicately between his fingers. 'Do me a favour?'

'Yes,' Kyo says at once.

'Just...' Ruki's eyeing him warmly, a strange sort of glint or glow about him, like there's something ablaze inside, 'Stand up?'

Kyo does so, and Ruki's smile widens, and his hand holding the pencil darts down to the paper almost unconsciously.

'You use your body,' he says, clearing his throat to get the sleep out of it, 'In such a weird way. I...' he lowers his head to watch what he's doing, his hunched-over drawing posture, and his eyes flick back and forth between Kyo and the paper, Kyo and the paper. 'I love watching you,' he admits, and though his voice is casual there's a warm sort of look to the tops of his ears and the back of his neck.

'You watch me a lot.'

'Yeah. You watch me a lot, too.' He glances up at him suddenly, a flash of a grin passing over his face before he's turned back towards the paper, 'What's your excuse?'

'You should be timing this,' Kyo says instead of answering. 'Five minutes.'

'Five minutes?'

'You told me. For life drawing. Five minutes. Three minutes. One minute. Five minutes. That's how you get the best drawing.'

Ruki looks up at him for longer, this time, an interested look on his face. Slowly, his pencil leaves the paper and he leans back on his hands.

'That's true,' he says lightly. 'But if it's life drawing we're doing, you shouldn't really be wearing those clothes.'

His sudden smile is like

 

_an alarm bell, a siren, screeching unending between his ears, drying his mouth into dust and narrowing his vision into hot pulsing tunnels: the bad thing, the bad thing, the bad thing, all over him and all over again, the bad thing, forever, like a blind and windowless corridor. His back is to the wall, his skin filthy with grime and blood, his own, the sticky stuff, not his own, sweat like insects crawling down his back to where the pain is sharp and grating, turning slow and grinding inside him like a rusty machine, broken mechanism, something. He can see his own blood vessels, electric blue against the darkness in front of his eyes, and he blinks desperately to try and clear his vision to see them, to evade them, the creatures made from shadow, the creatures, the shadows, monsters. He can feel sister's fear like a vibration on the air. She is a mess, crying; she is half-digested. The air feels black and red, smells acrid. The shadows have swallowed them. Sister's face is already gone. He can't figure out how she can still be crying but the sound of it winds itself around the alarm bell, drives into his ears like an ice pick; in his veins his blood seems to be screaming and he will have to fight his way out of this, cut his way out of the monster; he will have to use his nails and his teeth and rupture the wall of the shadow's stomach to kill it with its own acids, to burn it alive._

_Sister says help I am dying oh help can't you make it stop brother, brother, I'm dead, I'm eaten_

_And he has his tears on him and her tears on him as he reaches out and_

 

curls his hands around the hem of his T-shirt, tugging it upward. On the floor, Ruki's quiet, his pencil poised on the paper but his face angled up, his dark eyes locked on Kyo's body, no laughter in them now.

It's warm, but Kyo shivers slightly as he pulls the T-shirt up over his head, twisting it gently between his hands before he allows it to drop to the floor. Ruki's face is focussed, clear, intense, beautiful. A habit of his when he draws something he feels serious about: he gathers his messy hair up and pulls it back into a knot, keeping it out of his eyes. It reveals the pulse that quickens, flowering in his neck: an everyday miracle, the new normal.

Kyo steps out of his underwear and stands very still. A deep flush is working its way through his body, and Ruki clears his throat a little nervously.

'Like this?' Kyo asks, his voice stilted, and Ruki clears his throat.

'A little closer,' he suggests, 'And—' he gestures awkwardly with his pencil, 'Nearer to the light.'

He obeys, and feels the sunlight flare down the side of his body and his neck and his cheek, lighting up strands of his hair like little filaments. Ruki shifts where he sits, like he's uncomfortable, and adjusts his sketchbook a little gingerly in his lap.

'That's great,' he says briefly, 'Perfect. That shadow of you – on the wall—' Clumsily, he reaches behind himself for his own cast-off wristwatch, and places it in front of him with the face angled up. 'Five minutes.'

He starts to draw. The sound is of his pencil moving decisively over the paper, and above it, the soft sound of his breathing; Kyo realises that his heart is beating hard enough for it to be visible, going heavy in his chest. Ruki's eyes move quickly, mapping out his body in practised motions; on the paper in front of him he surveys contours, valleys, inclines. The landscape is familiar, a sort of optical illusion: here is the pure version of him spilling out over the paper, the one where the knots and ridges of scars become less important, just another minor geographic point on a map that covers the whole world. On the floor, Ruki glances up at him uncertainly. His cheeks are warm-looking. He holds up his pencil in front of his face, closes one eye, uses it to judge a measurement: he's shy but focussed, serious, a mix that makes something in the pit of Kyo's stomach feel strangely fluttery, strangely light. Ruki glances up again, and the feeling is like dissolving.

'Sorry,' he says hoarsely. He feels he should shield himself from view but clenches his fists to fight the temptation; before him, Ruki swallows and adjusts and readjusts his grip on his pencil. He draws a single line and then hesitates, looking up again, staring for longer. Kyo's hands shake with the effort to not hide himself, and between where they are fisted on either side of his thighs his cock hardens more with each heartbeat.

An abstracted part of him wonders if this is a scar all its own: how much he's always hated the feeling of eyes on him, how Ruki's gaze gets him so fucking hot now. He shifts where he stands; he wants to touch himself. He wants to disappear. He wants Ruki to watch him. He wants—

'It's okay,' Ruki says, his voice quiet, 'You don't have to apologise.' He sets his pencil and sketchpad gently to the side, leans back on his hands. 'Does it turn you on, having me watch you?'

'I—' Kyo's cock twitches hard and he wraps his hand around it quickly. In front of him, on the floor, Ruki eyes him.

'It turns me on, watching you,' he says, his voice low and steady even though he's tugging anxiously at his own hair; a nervous tic, an excited tic. His other hand, he stretches out, and when Kyo dumbly takes it he finds himself being pulled gently forward, guided down onto his knees, cock flushed and heavy in front of him, and he watches with his dark eyes wide as Ruki gracefully sheds the clothes he wore to sleep in; simply peels them off, loose and casual, like he just doesn't need them any more. Naked, he blushes, but he shifts forward and turns unsteadily around, sitting up on his knees so that his back is flush with Kyo's chest, and with a strange jolt Kyo understands why: from that angle they're framed perfectly by the mirror, their two reflections glowing golden in the morning sun. He watches Ruki's hand as he reaches it up behind him, curling his fingers gently against Kyo's own cheek; he watches his own hand as it comes around Ruki's hip, wraps itself carefully around his cock. A soft sound comes from between Ruki's lips and he lets his head fall back to kiss at Kyo's neck, at the underside of his jaw, and as Kyo slowly strokes his cock he stares mesmerised at the reflection of the two of them; this weird mirror image, this optical illusion. He brings his fingers together, watching the way the Ruki pushes the head of his cock up through them; his own dick gives a twitch and he stares as he pushes it a little desperately up against Ruki's ass, the tip slipping between his cheeks to press hotly against him, so Ruki's gasp cuts through his own hot groan. His hand finds the bend of Kyo's thigh and grips at it wordlessly, and spellbound Kyo watches as he moves his fist around Ruki's cock, as he grinds against him; as his lover's eyes stare darkly into his own and as Ruki's lips fall sweetly open, making the shape of Kyo's name, saying it out loud.

Suddenly fearless, he pushes

 

_the full weight of his body against the door desperately, stumbling against the padding, testing to see if it'll give. Cold sweat runs down his forehead to sting his eyes, and it's dark. And it's dark. And it's dark. And the walls shrink and grow, shrink and grow, and the pipes rush, and outside there are the doctors and the nurses and the other patients, outside there's Die and Aoi and Shinya and Ruki, outside Ruki, but inside there is him and the pipes with their rush of water, the footsteps overhead; inside there are the shadows, ready to feed._

_Deafly he whimpers, throwing his shoulder desperately against the door, listens to the pipes gurgle. Water sounds, digestion sounds. The shadows get fatter._

_He's aware that he's crying, hot and cold running down his cheeks, tears that stiffen up like blood, like cum. Jams his shoulder against the door. Scrabbles pointlessly at the padding. Hurls himself back again._

_Please, he's saying, maybe aloud. Please. Please. Please._

_Aloud or not, the result is the same. For maybe an hour he strikes the door with his body, making himself go hard like a column, limp like a rag; when he at last lets his body fall back into the corner it feels weak and trembling all over, stiff with cold and shock. The line of light under the door edges closer and then retreats, blurs and then shrinks down to a pinpoint, and he hears a choked sort of sound come from himself._

_But he has to watch the light, to know when they're coming._

_He has to watch the light._

_He has to watch the light._

_He has to watch_

 

Ruki hips jerk upwards as Kyo strokes him, as he grinds against him; Kyo lets his eyes fall closed and so feels it instead of sees it as Ruki twists, his breath hot against Kyo's neck.

'I want to feel you,' he whispers, and Kyo smiles against his hair, fisting his dick agonisingly slowly.

'You can't feel me now?' he asks, and Ruki groans in frustration.

'I – I want—'

'Yes?'

'Put your fingers inside me.'

His hand fumbles as he presses the lubricant into Kyo's palm, but receiving it, Kyo feels oddly calm. Leaning against him Ruki is panting, his chest rising and falling harshly, the line of his body stretched beautifully open; and Kyo coats his fingers in the lubricant just to rub at him, to tease him, whilst his other hand leaves his dick and instead flattens over his belly, holding him up and keeping them pressed tightly together.

He traces a slick circle around Ruki's hole and bites softly at his neck, 'Like this?'

'Kyo – I – _more_ , please—'

And it's the weirdest thing, the most incredible part of this new normal, watching his index and middle fingers disappear inside Ruki's body and the effect it has on him; the way he writhes in Kyo's hold and moans deeply, his face flushed with pleasure. In the mirror every inch of him is laid bare and Kyo moves his fingers inside him, feeling the heat that burns at his core, watching the way Ruki's cock twitches slightly with every new thrust into him, the way it leaks slickly, desperate to be touched; the way Ruki goes almost boneless and sinks back against him, his whole body given over. Staring, addicted, Kyo fucks him with his fingers until he's panting and his hips are bucking upward of their own accord; strange, the way it makes him feel so powerful; the way Ruki won't take his eyes off him and how safe that makes him feel, how wanted, how real. He can feel the younger man's hand gripping at his leg desperately and he clutches him tighter, desperate to make him cry out again, to make him cum for him—

'Kyo,' Ruki gasps, his voice breaking sharply, 'Kyo, please—'

'You want me to make you cum like this?'

'No, I—' breathlessly he shakes his head, 'Fuck me. I want you to fuck me. Please.'

Gently, Kyo presses their heads together, placing a soft kiss just behind Ruki's ear. He's still holding onto him like he's afraid he's going to run away, but carefully he pulls his fingers out of his body, squeezing him when he hears the softly needy sound he makes. He moves slowly now, determined not to fuck anything up; he coats his cock in lubricant, loses himself in the familiar smell of Ruki's neck, helps his lover kneel up and sink slowly, shakily back against him, sliding down the length of his cock until Kyo is completely inside him, both arms wrapped around his chest.

In the mirror, their eyes meet, and Kyo notices that his own look damp, that they look soft, warm; that they stare at Ruki like they can't believe in him: his knees against the floor, his thighs, his cock, his belly and his chest and his neck; the face that turns to kiss his, panting softly into his mouth. Ruki's trembling, but Kyo thinks he might be too: holding Ruki up like this they can't fuck very fast or very hard, but it doesn't seem to matter: he can feel from the way that Ruki keeps almost spasming around him that the angle they're at has his dick pushing right up against Ruki's prostate, the pressure alternately gentle and firm but never relenting, and Ruki's letting loose a soft stream of gasps and sounds as Kyo moves inside him, his name filling the room

 

_that he's lived the past thirteen years of his life in, the bed now stripped down to a bare mattress, the shelves emptied, the barred window pushed open just an inch or so, letting the fresh air in._

_He sees his own reflection in it, older now than it used to be, but ultimately just the same._

_It's that, the sight of his same face, his same self, that makes him unsure whether or not he can really do this. The world seems to advance before him endlessly, hills beyond hills beyond hills, and carefully he wraps a single hand around the bars. For the past thirteen years, they haven't just kept him in; he understands that now. They've also kept the world out._

_He's kidding himself if he thinks he can do this, but a small hand pushes itself into his own, another reflection materialising beside his._

_'Ready for this?' Ruki asks gently, and as Kyo turns to face him he_

 

pushes needily into him, panting harshly at the heat of the other man around his cock, the feeling of this body, so much purer than his own but joined with him anyway, part of him, a better half. He clutches at Ruki's stomach, at his chest, squeezes him tight; fucks him, hears himself saying his name over and over; watches him as he cries out.

'Kyo,' Ruki says, his voice rising unsteadily, 'Cum in me, cum in me, please, I'm going to—'

With an urgent hand Kyo grabs for his dick, his fingers moving over it slickly, his thumb just rubbing over the tip, and he feels himself go over the edge as Ruki's body clamps desperately around him, his face lost completely in pleasure and his body arching as he cums over the mirror, the floor, himself.

Ruki's shaking as he clings to him, and Kyo realises that he's shaking, too. His legs are protesting at the angle and Ruki's body feels limp against his own; still they don't move, just stay clinging to each other in front of the mirror. Kyo feels it as Ruki's breathing slowly steadies, as his heart slows its frenzied pounding. He almost hates to do it but gently he pulls out, squeezing his lover tightly as he does so; carefully, his movements slow and tender, he lays the two of them down, curling himself around the curve of Ruki's back and drawing the younger man closely in against his body.

'I know you're scared,' Ruki's saying faintly, his eyes softly closed and his fingers reaching to grip at Kyo's own, 'I'm scared too, sometimes.' He blinks upward, turning to give his lover a small smile, 'But this is our home. This is where we belong.'

'The world,' Kyo says quietly, 'Is so big.'

'I know. I know.' Ruki wriggles contentedly against him, 'But this part of it is small, and it's just ours. Just ours.'

Pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck, Kyo lets his mind go smoothly from one object in the bedroom to the other, a calming ritual: two futons, two teacups, a sketchbook, a mirror, a bookshelf.

The new normal.

All kinds of wonderful things are included in this.

He holds his lover to him, feels the way his heart beats.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I missed these characters, yo!  
> That said, I don't think I really achieved what I wanted to with this. I just wanted to prompt myself to write something!! So, sorry if this isn't at the normal quality...whatever that may be. And as ever, thanks to anyone who reads this!


End file.
